


and we build something beautiful

by textbook



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Multi, but not as tragic so don't worry be happy, reads like a makjang drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbook/pseuds/textbook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>29 year old Jongdae wakes up to realise his life has changed a lot since he was 22. Instead of a successful career in music, he's a doctor. Instead of the cramped little studio apartment he shared with his high school sweetheart Minseok in Seoul, he lives in a penthouse in central Beijing with his husband, a high powered lawyer by the name of Lu Han.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we build something beautiful

7년을 만났죠  
그래도 우리는 헤어져 버렸죠  
긴 시간 쌓아왔던 기억을 남긴채  
We met for seven years  
However we still separated  
With the memories we built for a long time, now gone

The first thing Jongdae feels is pain. Every bone, every muscle, every square inch of his skin and _being_ is in utter pain. The light beyond his closed eyelids hurts him, and so do the voices around him.

 _He’s waking up_ , he registers someone saying. No shit. There’s beeping and other mechanical noises. It sounds like something out of a medical drama.

The last thing Jongdae remembers is Minseok’s face. He’d told him a joke, and Minseok had laughed, a huff coming out between his rosy lips. Jongdae had wanted so badly to kiss him back then, to just lean over and press their lips together. But they were on a train.

And another train had rammed right into them.

Oh god, was Minseok alright? Jongdae jolts awake, opening his eyes and letting the fluorescent light blind them temporarily. _Minseok_ , he tries to say, but nothing comes out of his mouth. The incessant chatter around him grows louder, and he feels hands pushing him back down onto the bed, but he can’t lie down, he can’t go back to sleep.

“Min–” He manages, his throat burning with that single syllable alone. He barely registers the mask being strapped over his nose and mouth before the darkness claims him again.  


–––

Jongdae and Minseok had met in high school. They were both in the school band, with Minseok playing the Saxophone and Jongdae on Percussion. It had taken Jongdae a mere month in the band to talk to Minseok, asking him out for coffee or a burger after band practice. Minseok had said no, of course. He was dating someone else back then.

Despite that little hiccup, they became easy friends, their common love for music and art drawing them together. They spent many weekends checking out underground bands and jamming out in run-down studios. For almost two years, nothing was said of the time Jongdae had asked Minseok out on a date. They were friends, and Jongdae had accepted it as that.

Two months before Minseok sat for his University entrance exams he'd broken things off with his then-girlfriend.

The evening he left the school after the exams he called Jongdae, and asked him if he'd like to go out for coffee or a burger.

They’d been together ever since.  


–––

When Jongdae comes around again, he hears chatter in a foreign language. Mandarin Chinese, his brain supplies, and then proceeds to process it.

He understands Mandarin. The nurse is telling someone about his brain activity. _He’s been dreaming. No sign of brain damage and oh– there you go, he’s awake again._

“Zhongda?” Someone calls. The voice is unfamiliar, but soothing. He closes his eyes and opens them again, squinting to get used to the dim light and his lack of glasses. A thumb rests on the back of his hand and starts rubbing slow circles. It calms Jongdae down despite the fact that he doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

When his vision finally focuses, he sees an unfamiliar man with pale skin and high cheekbones.

He’s not Minseok.

“Who–” Jongdae manages before his throat closes up. The man jolts up immediately, grabbing a cup and a straw and pouring Jongdae a glass of water.

“Slowly now,” the man says in Mandarin, holding the straw up to Jongdae’s lips. His eyebrows are twisted into a frown, and his smile is forced, but somehow, Jongdae can tell that his concern is genuine.

Jongdae takes a few sips, barely a mouthful. It takes too much effort, and he pushes the cup away from him, but the other man coaxes him to drink a bit more. He takes another sip, then turns his head away from it.

There’s that comforting, familiar darkness in the distance. Jongdae closes his eyes and chases it once more.  


–––

Minseok was painting when Jongdae returned home from a jam session. He was so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t even noticed that Jongdae had walked in, even after his usual “Honey, I’m home!” yell from the doorway. Jongdae didn’t want to disturb him, so he stepped into Minseok’s ‘studio’ (a curtained-off corner of their tiny living room in their tiny apartment) and watched as Minseok dabbed colours onto the canvas, earphones plugged securely into his ears, the tips of his fingers stained with paint and a smudge of white paint on his cheek.

Try as he might, Jongdae couldn’t really make sense of Minseok’s current work-in-progress. It was a mess of colour – mainly yellows and oranges, but interspersed with reds and purples and pinks. If he tilted his head one way, it would look like a camel; the other way, it would look like a peacock.

“You’re home,” Minseok said after some five minutes of silence. He made to pull his earphones out, but remembered that his fingers were covered with paint. Jongdae chuckled, stepped forward and pulled them out for him.

“Been home for the past half hour,” Jongdae teased. “You were too absorbed to notice me sneaking in.”

Minseok saw right through his lie. “Nice try, ‘Dae. You would’ve fallen asleep if it had really been that long.”

“Point,” Jongdae agreed, then leaned in to press their lips together in a chaste kiss. Minseok pulled away almost immediately, and Jongdae chased after his lips, losing his balance and falling over Minseok in process.

“Aw, my shirt,” Jongdae complained when he realised that Minseok had grabbed his waist to steady them, his paint-stained fingers sticky on the cloth. “Yet another shirt marked as a work of art by the great Kim Minseok.”

“Your fault,” Minseok replied, gripping a little harder. “It was either your shirt or my work. I say your shirt.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jongdae said, then added, “and for that, you get another kiss.”

They forget about the shirt again after that. Jongdae’s friends would see him in it a week later and ask what kind of kinky sex he’d had with his art major boyfriend. Jongdae would chuckle and say: _Wouldn’t you like to know?_  


–––

It’s dark the next time Jongdae wakes up. He takes a while to really consider his surroundings through the dim lighting. He’s in a hospital, not intensive care but a private ward. How on earth was Minseok and his parents affording this?

Glasses, he thinks dimly, then gropes at the bedside table to find them. There’s a crash when he ends up knocking something over, and he curses and struggles to get up.

The door slides open, and someone rushes in.

“Zhongda,” it’s the unfamiliar man again. “You’re awake.”

Jongdae takes in his features, trying his very best to recognise him. Thick, wavy hair dyed dark brown, big eyes. Somehow he knows that he recognises this man. He just can’t seem to figure out _who_ he is.

The man pulls out a chair and takes one of Jongdae’s hands, rubbing the same comforting circles he did the last time. “How are you feeling?”

“You–” Jongdae begins in Mandarin, then catches himself because _how_ on earth can he even speak Mandarin? He remembers his basic lessons throughout middle and high school, but something tells him that he’s much more proficient than that.

“Who are you?” He blurts out in Korean. The man looks visibly shocked, but reels himself back equally quickly. He lets go of Jongdae’s hand.

“My name is Lu Han,” he says in Mandarin. “Do you understand me?”

Jongdae does, so he nods.

Lu Han lets out a visible sigh, his shoulders relaxing a little. “You were in an accident. There was sleet on the road and your driver was going too fast. You were unconscious for eight days.”

Wrong. He was in a train crash. Another train from an adjacent track had hit theirs.

“I’m in China,” Jongdae says instead.

Lu Han nods. “Yes. What do you remember before this?”

Jongdae doesn’t know where to start, or what to say, even, so he doesn’t reply. He feels lightheaded, even though he’s lying down, and has been for the past eight days, apparently. He finds it hard to comprehend what Lu Han is saying, even though he understands his every word. 

Nothing makes sense.

“Do you remember your life before this?” Lu Han asks gently.

“Seoul,” Jongdae replies after a long moment. “I’m in my last year of university. I live with my boyfriend, Minseok.” He pauses, because something tells him that he’s not right. “I’m wrong, aren’t I?”

Lu Han doesn’t answer.  


–––

While most people took their graduation trips overseas, Minseok didn’t have the kind of money to fly to exotic places like the Greek Islands or Bora Bora like his peers. What he had, though, was Jongdae for a boyfriend and two months before he had to start his new job.

“We don’t need a plane ticket to go on an adventure,” Jongdae told him over breakfast. “We have a car and each other.”

“You mean your brother’s old car?” Minseok chuckled. “I’m surprised that thing can still start.”

“Hey, it’s my baby now, so be careful what you say about it,” Jongdae pouted. He was proud of his car. Jongdeok had clocked almost 100 thousand miles on it, but Jongdae had sent it over to Kyungsoo to get it fixed up and it had run like a dream ever since.

“Sure,” Minseok grinned. “You know, we don’t need to go anywhere. I’m fine not having a grad trip.”

“You can’t _not_ have a grad trip!” Jongdae exclaimed. “It’s a rite of passage! You won’t be a _real_ graduate if you don’t take your grad trip!”

Minseok raised his hands in defeat, still grinning. “So what do you suggest we do? I’m all for just staying here and having sex all day.”

Jongdae considered that. Having sex with Minseok ranked high on his List of Favourite Things To Do Everyday. But that was something they have already done in the past summers ever since Jongdae moved in.

“You’re considering it,” Minseok teased, pinching Jongdae’s shin with his toes.

“I’m not!” Jongdae replied, indignant. “As much as I love having sex with you, we’ve done it too much here. We should spice it up. Our sex life.”

“So we’re having sex in the car instead? On the road? Or parked in some public carpark where anyone can just look in and see us go at it?” Minseok’s foot was stroking Jongdae’s shin, his eyebrows making suggestive little wiggles that Jongdae knew through much experience would lead to only one thing.

“Yeah,” Jongdae replied, getting up so he could go over to Minseok and sit on his lap. “Just that. Your grad trip will be just that.”  


–––

Lu Han pulls out a phone out of his pocket and passes it to Jongdae. “I’m not sure if you’ll believe anything I say, but this is your phone.” Jongdae takes it, unsure what to do. “You’re very organised. All your appointments are in your calendar. Your email addresses are all synced. Your photos are sorted by date and location.” He pauses, his hand lingering on Jongdae’s. “You have a weibo.”

Jongdae doesn’t know what a weibo is, and Lu Han realises this, because he unlocks the phone and opens an app. It looks like some kind of social networking site, all in Mandarin Chinese.

And Jongdae can read every word.

When Lu Han realises that Jongdae won’t be saying anything anytime soon, he excuses himself with a soft mutter. He’s hurt, Jongdae registers dimly. Badly. He probably means a lot to Jongdae, but Jongdae can barely remember him.

He holds the phone for a long time, staring at his phone’s background – Lu Han and _him_ – until it dims and goes black.  


–––

They leave for their roadtrip on a Wednesday afternoon, packing clothes and essentials into a duffel bag and Jongdae’s ratty old backpack, then tossing it into the back seat of the car before hopping in the front. Jongdae had offered to drive first, because it was Minseok’s graduation trip after all.

“You can take over once we hit the highway outside Seoul. I know you hate jams,” Jongdae told him, giving him a grin before turning back to the road.

“How sweet of you,” Minseok cooed. He rested his hand on top of Jongdae’s on the gearstick and squeezed, and Jongdae felt that familiar rush of warmth and affection and _love_ for Minseok all over again.  


–––

There was no doubt that the phone was Jongdae’s – he’s somehow familiar with the placement of his apps that flicking through them seems almost instinctual. He goes through his photos, watches slightly detached as _he_ and Lu Han gallivant around the world – he doesn’t recognise most of the places, but the locations tell him where he’s been. It’s beyond his imagination. He’s been _everywhere_.

He stops on a photo of Lu Han kissing his cheek. Their fingers are entwined and held up at the camera, and he’s smiling so brightly, his eyes are sparkling with tears. He’d believe it if someone had told him that that day had been the best day of his life.

They’re wearing matching suits in the picture, neat and pressed, complete with a skinny tie around Lu Han’s neck, a bowtie around Jongdae’s _and_ matching corsages pinned to their pockets.

Identical shiny, silver rings are on their ring fingers. They’re showing it off, as though they’d just gotten married.

Good lord, Lu Han was his _husband_.  


–––

They’re on the major highway the next time Jongdae woke up from his nap. There was a bit of drool sliding out from the corner of his mouth, so he sat up and wiped it away.

Minseok noticed that he was awake. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. We’re reaching soon.”

“Reaching where?” Jongdae asked, still groggy. His glasses had slid off his face, having fallen onto his lap, so he put them back on his face and squinted. The road is void of signs.

“Daejeon, your hometown,” Minseok replied, grinning before turning back to the road.

“What?!” Jongdae exclaimed. It wasn’t their plan to go to Daejeon – they’d planned to go up to Sokcho and slowly make their way down to Busan. Only on the way back would they stop by Daejeon to visit Jongdae’s grandparents.

Minseok shrugged when Jongdae told him this. “Spontaneity? You always said I was lacking, so.”

Jongdae stared at him. In the almost six years that he’d known Minseok, he’d hardly ever seen him act out of spontaneity. Sure, he’d follow along with Jongdae’s impulsive plans for their dates, but for things that affected them beyond that moment, they’d discuss it over and make a decision.

The roadtrip had taken a while to plan. The hotels had already been booked, as well as some of the activities they’d planned to do. Minseok had calculated the amount of money they would need and split it among their bags and between the two of them so it wasn’t in a lump sum. Going to Daejeon would pretty much fuck up their plans, but spontaneous decisions were an adventure to Jongdae, and he was never the one who could say no to an adventure.

“Daejeon it is, then,” he said, squeezing Minseok’s hand on the gearstick.  


–––

Jongdae has tons of photos with Lu Han and their cats, Lulu and Chenchen on his weibo. Lulu’s a Sphynx while Chenchen’s a Scottish Fold, and they’re adorable.

 _Winter is coming! Time to hide under Chenchen!_ Jongdae had captioned one of the photos. Lulu’s head is peeking out from under Chenchen’s belly. Chenchen is sleeping, its tongue peeking out of the corner of its mouth, and Lulu looks like it was about to nod off as well.

 _Wow. It’s like they’re really your children_ , someone called GALAXY_凡凡凡 had commented.

 _That’s because they are our children, you dumb shit_ , Lu Han had replied. _They take after their parents. We’re so proud._

GALAXY_凡凡凡 had replied a string of :P emojis to that, and Jongdae wonders if all their friends are just as weird. He keeps scrolling, then finally reaches a photo album.

 _Beach party!_ He’d captioned it, adding a whole string of emojis. The location is tagged as Ibiza, Spain, yet another place Jongdae had never heard of but has visited. The photos are a mix of him and Lu Han, as well as their other friends. GALAXY_凡凡凡 makes an appearance as a tall, brooding blondie who looks incredibly grumpy as he gives Jongdae a piggy back on the beach. Also in the album are HZT-ao, a tall, scary-looking dude who apparently got freaked out by a lizard on a tree, and 我是_兴兴兴_1991, a dimpled dude who always appears to pose with a v sign with his hands.

There’s no sign of his life in Seoul. It was as though he had forgotten it all. He doesn’t type in Korean on his Weibo account, and something tells him that he hardly uses it offline. His friends had called him _Zhongda_ on Weibo – a name that he had heard Lu Han call him more than once. Something had happened, something that was connected to the train crash that he keeps reliving in his nightmares, but try as he might, Jongdae just couldn’t seem to recall it.  


–––

It’s way past sundown when Minseok and Jongdae finally arrive at Daejeon. They’d taken multiple detours along the way, all in the spirit of adventure, that they’d spent the entire afternoon instead of what would have been a 2 hour drive.

“We don’t have a place to stay,” Minseok said when he spotted the Daejeon exit sign along the expressway.

Jongdae stayed silent. He’d planned to call his grandparents and aunts up when they were in Sokcho, just to let them know he’d be visiting with a friend and when to expect them. He hadn’t expected Minseok to suddenly change their plans and bring them to Daejeon on their first day out instead.

“Have you called your aunt?” Minseok asked, turning to glance at Jongdae before focusing on the road.

“I haven’t told them,” Jongdae admitted after a while, just as Minseok was turning off the expressway. “I’ve only told Jongdeok hyung.”

Minseok was silent.

“Hyung,” Jongdae muttered, turning to look at Minseok when he realised that he wasn’t going to get a reply from him. Minseok’s expression was a little tight, his eyebrows twisted slightly, his mouth curled into a frown. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel, and Jongdae knew Minseok was hurt.

“Hyung,” he said again, louder this time. “I was going to tell them, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” Minseok cut in. “We’ll find another place. It’s fine, Jongdae.”

Jongdae knew it wasn’t.  


–––

Jongdae is discharged a week later. The doctors had wanted to discharge him a lot earlier, but Lu Han had insisted on monitoring him for another week.

“Isn’t there anything you can do about his amnesia?” He’d asked.

The doctors shook their heads. “He’s remembering gradually on his own, so it’s fine. We’ll keep monitoring him, though. We’ll find some way to spark his memories if he stops recalling on his own.”

It’s not amnesia. Somehow Jongdae knows that it was he who had chosen to hide his own memories deep inside of him, refusing to deal with them and eager to build a new life for himself. It was clear in his weibo that he was desperate to forget Kim Jongdae, happy with being Chen Zhongda instead.

He just needs to know why.

Lu Han sits with him in the backseat. Somehow Jongdae knows that they usually don’t sit like this – Lu Han on one side of the car and Jongdae in another – but he doesn’t know how to reach out and bridge the gap between them. Even though he can hardly remember the details of their life together without some kind of prompting, he knows for sure that he cares for Lu Han.

“This is our apartment,” Lu Han says as he unlocks the door and opens it. It’s on the top floor of a fancy-looking building in what looked to be a swanky neighbourhood, and Jongdae wonders what he and Lu Han do for a living to be able to afford such a place. He’d have to ask Lu Han later.

“Are Lulu and Chenchen here?” Jongdae asks. Lu Han pauses in his step. He looks a little taken aback.

“You remember them,” Lu Han says, the corners of his lips twisted up into a smile.

“Uhm. They were on my weibo. You said they were our kids so…” he trails off, not knowing what else to say.

Lu Han’s smiling though. “They’re with one of our friends. Zitao. I’ll drive over and pick them up once we get you settled.”

Jongdae knows who Zitao is from his weibo posts. A tall guy with a pretty emo-looking exterior, complete with excessive black clothes and heavy eyebags.

“He knows how to take care of cats?” Jongdae asks. “He looks pretty… In his own world to me.”

“He is,” Lu Han agrees. “He’s a big brat, but he loves cats, especially Lulu and Chenchen.” He chuckles. “He keeps claiming that he should be their godfather, actually.”

“They’re not _human_ children,” Jongdae says. He feels comfortable like this, bantering with Lu Han. It’s familiar, and makes him feel safe. “They’re cats. They don’t need a godfather.”

Lu Han’s grin falls a little, and Jongdae’s scared he’s said something wrong. He panics, and asks Lu Han what’s wrong with what he’s said, but Lu Han shakes his head, a forced smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You… Just said something you always do when we talk about Zitao and the cats. _They’re cats, not human. They don’t need a godfather._ ”

Jongdae didn’t know. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he takes the last of the stuff out of his bag and places it on the vanity instead. The awkwardness settles back between them, and it’s a little stifling.

“I’ll go pick Lulu and Chenchen up from Zitao,” Lu Han mutters, then ducks out of the room.  


–––

They drove around Daejeon looking through motels for a room, but every one of them was fully booked. Exhausted, Jongdae suggested they try a hotel, and Minseok agreed, and they find themselves taking the lift up to their room on the tenth floor.

The room was big, with two double beds, a television, and a bathroom with an actual bathtub. It had also costed a lot of money, so Jongdae and Minseok had agreed to stay for just one night and bunk in with Jongdae’s aunts the next day.

“You don’t have to tell them. Friends take trips together all the time.” Minseok had said.

Jongdae wanted so desperately for everyone to know about him and Minseok. They weren’t a dirty secret that he’d have to hide. Minseok was his everything, and his family should know.

He just didn’t have the courage to tell them.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if we’d gone to Sokcho,” Jongdae said instead. Something told him that he was going to regret saying that, but he was just so tired and cranky after an hour of searching around Daejeon for empty motel rooms. “This room was really way too expensive.”

Minseok paused on the bed, his hand still stretched out to turn on the television. Jongdae knew he’s disappointed and hurt, because they’d agreed to tell their parents a couple of months back, and while Minseok had stayed true to his words and told his family about Jongdae, Jongdae hadn’t done the same.

“Hyung,” Jongdae said, irritated. “Just say what you want to say.”

Minseok doesn’t say anything. The silence stretched out for what felt like a long while, the only sounds in the room the hum of the bar refrigerator and the distant noises from the traffic below. It irked Jongdae.

“Hyung–” Jongdae began, but Minseok was getting up from the bed and heading to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a bath,” he said.

“Don’t walk away from this conversation, hyung.” Jongdae got up as well, following Minseok. They reach the bathroom, and Minseok paused after he’d stepped inside. Jongdae thought he was about to say something, but he turned and closed the door in Jongdae’s face.  


–––

The apartment is huge. It’s a penthouse, with Jongdae and Lu Han’s bedroom and a balcony on the second floor, and an open living-dining-kitchen space, a study and a guest room on the first floor. Everything looks well-kept and lived-in, even the kitchen, with pictures of Lu Han and Jongdae and their cats and friends scattered around the house in frames and even polaroids stuck to the fridge. There’s a shelf filled with picture frames in the living room, and Jongdae recognises himself and Lu Han from their wedding day, this time surrounded by two elderly couples.

One of them looks like the splitting image of Lu Han – or rather, Lu Han was the splitting image of them – while the other was completely unfamiliar. They had their hands on Jongdae’s shoulders though, their grins wide and proud, as though they were Jongdae’s parents.

It didn’t make any sense. Jongdae knew who his parents were, and this couple was definitely not them. Where were Jongdae’s real parents? They didn’t… die, did they? They hadn’t visited Jongdae at the hospital either, but then again, he was in China.

But this photo – it was his _wedding_. Why weren’t they there?

Panicking, Jongdae raced upstairs looking for his phone. It was sitting on the bedside table, and it slipped through Jongdae’s fingers as he tried to pick it up.

His hands are shaking, and it takes Jongdae a few tries before he finally manages to unlock his phone screen and scroll through his contacts. Every single name was in Chinese characters, even the ones for _Home_ , _Papa office_ and _Mama mobile_.

Never has Jongdae felt so lost and empty. He drops his phone onto his lap, and feels his world close up around him.  


–––

Daejeon had changed a lot since Jongdae visited during _seollal_ last year. Even then, he’d only gone over to his aunts’ house and then back to Seoul, not having the time to explore his old childhood haunts.

He wandered along the alleys around the hotel before stumbling across a playground. It was old, very similar to the one near his elementary school that he’d played in as a child. It was also covered in graffiti and was littered with beer bottles and cans, but Jongdae didn’t seem to mind. He climbed up the ladder to the top of the slide, then sat down, pulling his knees close.

Jongdae was tired. Even more so after the spat he’d had with Minseok. Jongdae knew that Minseok was disappointed in him for not being able to tell his family about them, and he was sorry for not having the courage. However it also irked him when Minseok had chosen to run away from Jongdae instead of talking about it. Sure, Minseok had always been non-confrontational and incredibly passive by nature, but couldn’t he just _talk_ to Jongdae if he was upset?

He let out a groan and buried his head between his knees. 

That’s when Jongdae heard a crash, as though something had been dropped from a great height onto the asphalt below. He looked up, searching around him for the source of the sound, then spotted a small group of people in an alley to his right.

“Check if he’s dead,” one of them said, shoving another forward. The figure crouched and dropped to his knees, then looked up after a while.

“D-dead, sir,” he replied, voice shaky. Jongdae squinted through the dim light and saw that there was a body lying in between them. He sat up, taken aback, and gasped in shock.

The first man looked around, obviously having heard Jongdae. “Two of you, check for witnesses,” he ordered.

Jongdae knew then that he had to get out. It was dark, so it should be easy for him to just slip away if he was quiet enough. He slid down the slide, then crouched low to escape unnoticed.

Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t noticed the beer cans lying around. He stepped on one, the _craaack_ sound echoing in the still air like a gunshot.

“Get him,” the man said, and Jongdae ran as fast as he could.  


–––

“...da? Zhongda. Jongdae, please.” Someone was shaking Jongdae, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to remember. Everything that had happened was his fault. He was the one who’d picked a fight with Minseok, then walked out of their hotel room to clear his head, then somehow become a witness of a murder by the _kangpae_. He was the one who had turned their entire lives around and put them in danger.

He shakes whoever who’s talking to him off, then gets up and tries to leave. The place he’s in looks so unfamiliar – too much space, too much white, completely different from the clutter that was Jongdae’s and Minseok’s apartment.

Someone grabs his hand. “Jongdae, please. Don’t leave,” he says. It’s in Korean. It doesn’t sound like Minseok.

It’s Lu Han.

“It was my fault,” Jongdae tells him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lu Han tells him. He grabs Jongdae by the wrist, then pulls him close into a hug.

He’s not Minseok, but Jongdae closes his eyes and lets himself sink into his embrace.  


–––

Minseok opened the door even before Jongdae could pull his key card out of its slot. His eyes were wide as he took in Jongdae’s injuries, then helped him inside and into the bathroom.

“What happened?!” He asked, wetting a towel with warm water and dabbing it around Jongdae’s eye.

“They killed someone,” Jongdae gasped. He grit his teeth as Minseok dabbed at a particularly nasty scrape on his cheekbone. “They pushed him out of a window and checked to see if he was dead.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” Jongdae said. He let out a shudder when Minseok attempted to pull his t-shirt off of Jongdae. His arms hurt, his ribs hurt, and he honestly had no idea how he had gotten away from those people alive.

“They said they’d come for me,” Jongdae continued, and Minseok’s fingers stilled against Jongdae’s arm.

“We have to leave,” Minseok said after a pause, his voice tight, but sure. Jongdae hadn’t realised how hard he was shaking until Minseok dropped the towel and pulled Jongdae carefully into his arms.

“It’s okay, you’ll be fine,” Minseok promised, combing his fingers gently through Jongdae’s hair. There was a painful bump, but he avoided it, then pressed a kiss to Jongdae’s temple. “We’ll be fine, Jongdae, don’t worry.”  


彷彿又迷路的你，你，你  
黑夜依然冷清 空气里失去你  
The you, you, you who seems lost again  
The dark night is still cold and lonely  
I lose you to the air

Lu Han had always known that loving Zhongda was like living on borrowed time. Zhongda had a past that he had refused to share with anyone. He hid it behind bright grins, excited chatter and sharp wit, but Lu Han always wondered what exactly had happened.

He’d never gotten the full story, but there had been glimpses. Zhongda sometimes had nightmares where he’d trash around in his sleep and mutter in Korean – a language he’d never speak while awake unless absolutely necessary. Lu Han couldn’t grasp much from the nightmares, but what he got was that Zhongda – Jongdae – had been in great danger.

Sometimes there was fire, and Jongdae would shout until his cries turned into sobs. Other times, he’d curl up into himself and whimper. Every single time a nightmare happened, Lu Han would try his best to soothe Jongdae and calm him down.

Jongdae would wake up the next morning with no memory of his nightmares. Or maybe, he’d forced himself not to remember. Either way, Lu Han knew that one day, Jongdae would learn that he would have to face his past and his nightmares, and when that day came, Lu Han’s borrowed time would be over.  


–––

Jongdae was at the piano when Lu Han returned, his fingers resting on the keys, but not playing them. He tenses when he notices Lu Han standing by the doorway, and pulls his hand away from the piano.

“How is it?” Lu Han asks, not sure if he should step into the room or stay by the door.

“I feel like I can remember random bits,” Jongdae begins. He raises his hands and rests them on the keys again, then presses softly. “Chords, bits of melodies and scores, but not much.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it again soon,” Lu Han reassures him. He tries to keep his voice light, but it’s not easy, especially when he knows that the time he has with Jongdae is now dwindling to nothing.

He watches as Jongdae’s fingers flit up and down the scale, testing out different chords and notes. Would Jongdae be happy getting everything back?

And when that happens, will Lu Han be able to let Jongdae go?  


–––

Lu Han reaches his office half an hour earlier the next morning and pulls out the file in the locked drawer of his desk. 22 year old Jongdae’s face greets him with a grin on the first page, and Lu Han knows that he has to do anything he can to make that smile appear again.

 _Minseok_ , Jongdae had said was his boyfriend’s name. _I lived with my boyfriend, Minseok. He wanted to be an artist._

Lu Han grabs his laptop and pulls up Naver search, then types in _Minseok, Seoul, artist_. There’s multiple search results, but it doesn’t faze Lu Han. It’s a start.

Lu Han clicks on the first one and starts to read. He’s pushing the limits of his Korean comprehension – years of being a fan of DBSK and studying Korean for their sake was not enough to read art blog reviews, but all Lu Han needed was a name and a point of contact.  


–––

There’s four artists in Seoul who go by _Minseok_. Two of them are women, and another, a fifty-year-old man. Jongdae had mentioned that he’d met Minseok in high school, so Lu Han’s left with a Kim Minseok who has a small studio in Hongdae. He’s thirty-one years old, Lu Han’s age, and had left a contact number on his blog.

Lu Han hesitates when he starts to dial. Once he contacts this man, there’d be no going back. Some sick part of him hopes that Kim Minseok had moved on in the past seven years, and didn’t want to see Jongdae, but Lu Han knows that it would probably be the opposite.

It takes him three tries, but he finally manages to dial the number and hold the phone without wanting to slam it back down. He buries his head in his arm as he waits for Kim Minseok to pick up the call, hoping that the line is out of service so he’d be able to tell himself that hey, he tried, but it just–

“Hello?”

Lu Han tenses up. He doesn’t know what to say, so he puts down the phone.  


捨不得看着你  
在我追不上的距离  
担心你一个人孤寂  
I can’t bear to look at you  
At a distance that I cannot catch up to,  
I worry that you will be lonely

> Kim Minseok-sshi,
> 
> I hope this email finds you in good health, and that you will take kindly to the news that I am about to share with you.
> 
> My name is Lu Han, and I am a Chinese lawyer living in Beijing. Four years ago I met a wonderful man named Chen Zhongda, a Korean adoptee studying for his medical degree. Two years ago, we moved in together. Last year, we got married.
> 
> Two months ago he was involved in a car accident that caused him temporary amnesia. He had forgotten almost everything about his life in Beijing for the past seven years, and his only memories, however little, were of you and your life together.
> 
> His real name is Kim Jongdae. From what I understand, you met in high school and lived together while you were in university. I’m not sure what had happened between that and his arrival in Beijing, but if his nightmares were any indication, it must have been traumatic enough for him to continuously force himself to forget.
> 
> I do not know of your current circumstances, or if I have even gotten the right person. But if you are the Minseok that Kim Jongdae was living with seven years ago, I do hope that you can reply.
> 
> I apologise for my awkward Korean, and I hope to hear from you soon.
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  Lu Han

Minseok rereads the email three times, then closes his laptop. He gets up, walking over to his kitchen to brew a mug of coffee for himself, going through the motions of grinding the beans, then pouring it into his French press. He stares at it for a long time, even after the brewing time is up, trying not to think about the possibility that Jongdae was _alive_.

It has been seven years since he and Jongdae had gotten into a train accident on the way to relocate to Busan. They were both under Witness Protection, and had been granted new identities and a new life, away from the organisation that had wrongly targeted Jongdae. Witness Protection had told him that Jongdae had died that day, and gave him remuneration and a choice to return to Seoul.

Minseok still has the money from the remuneration stashed in a safe, together with some of Jongdae’s most precious items that Minseok couldn’t bear to look at or throw away – a composition book, a pair of couple rings Jongdae had gotten them for their second anniversary, and the stack of polaroid photos they’d taken on Minseok’s graduation trip that had lasted a grand total of one day before their life was turned upside down.  


–––

“What would you do if you found out Jongdae was still alive?” Baekhyun had asked Minseok years ago. Kyungsoo had set his cup of coffee down and tossed him a glare, but Baekhyun paid it no mind, staring intently at Minseok instead.

“I try not to think about it,” Minseok had replied, trying to keep things light. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with Jongdae being gone, and he didn’t want to go back to the void of nothing that he’d become those months after he was told that Jongdae had died in the crash.

“But _what if_?” Baekhyun insisted, ignoring Kyungsoo’s and Chanyeol’s hissing at him to _shut the fuck up_ and _leave Minseok hyung alone_.

“I’d do anything to get him back,” Minseok said. “If it means I have to fight, I’ll fucking fight for him.”  


–––

It takes Minseok three days before he opens the email again. It sits innocuously in his inbox, refusing to be buried under the few emails he gets regarding his art or the classes he offers. He opens it, rereads it once, twice, then closes it again.

The next day, he opens it again, this time pressing the reply button at the top. He stares at the blinking cursor for a while, watching as it beckons for him to write something. _Lu Han-sshi,_ he begins. Then pauses.

And closes the window.  


–––

Minseok tries again the next day. There’s so much he wants to say to Lu Han, so much he wants to ask about Jongdae. Somehow it hasn’t really registered yet that Jongdae is no longer _his_ – Lu Han is Jongdae’s _husband_ , after all – all he knows is that Jongdae is alive, and that he remembers Minseok.

The reply is only sent off an hour later, after Minseok had written and re-written multiple parts. He’d tried to keep it as short and concise as possible.

> Lu Han-sshi,
> 
> Yes, I did live with Kim Jongdae when we were in university. We were involved in a messy situation that had threatened our lives. I was told he had died seven years ago. I had always hoped that what I was told had been a lie to protect the both of us, but I was never sure.
> 
> I sincerely, honestly thank you for taking your time to find me and let me know of his situation. I can only imagine the struggle both of you are going through right now.
> 
> If it isn’t too much trouble, do let me know of his condition, and if I could visit him.
> 
> Sincerely,  
>  Kim Minseok

Lu Han is surprisingly warm and comforting for someone in his situation – dealing with a husband who has temporary amnesia and a long-forgotten past couldn’t possibly be easy, Minseok thinks, and it must have taken a lot of strength and _love_ for him to even try to contact an old boyfriend for help.

 _Husband_ , Minseok thinks distantly. He pauses, his brush poised mere millimetres away from his canvas. A splotch of paint drops onto his apron and blooms, becoming yet another in the mosaic of colours on the cloth. Jongdae doesn’t belong to him anymore. Hasn’t been for a while, actually.

A younger Minseok would have been upset, sad, but now Minseok is conflicted. Lu Han had offered him tickets to fly to Beijing to see Jongdae, but somehow doing that felt _wrong_. Jongdae wasn’t his boyfriend anymore. He was Lu Han’s _husband_.

He thinks of Jongdae and him years and years ago, curled up in happiness and warmth, comfort and _love_. He wants that so badly with Jongdae again. He wants _Jongdae_ again.  


–––

Minseok doesn’t sleep the night before the flight. He tries to paint his confusion and nervousness away, but his hands shake and he can’t get his strokes to look right. He tries reading instead, but his mind always seems to wander off the text and onto Jongdae and Lu Han.

Eventually, he resorts to the television. He doesn’t watch much save for the English Premier League and the La Liga – a hobby that his therapist had suggested he pick up: one that was completely removed from Jongdae and their life together. There’s no matches on, but there are highlights, so he lies on the couch and watches replays of goals and fouls.

He doesn’t sleep, but he does slip into a daze, his brain buzzing blank. His alarm pulls him out of it, and he drags himself off the couch with a tumulted, heavy heart.  


–––

Sure, he’d seen Lu Han in pictures, but seeing him in person threw Minseok even more off-balance.

“Uh, uhm, hi,” Lu Han says. He has dark brown hair and a cherub-like face, the only hints of his age being the faint crows feet nestled in the corners of his eyes. “Kim Minseok?”

“Hi,” Minseok greets back, feeling really awkward. “You’re Lu Han?”

“Yeah.” Lu Han reaches out for Minseok’s luggage, and Minseok passes one to him. “I want to apologise. In advance. For my Korean.” He speaks really slowly, as though wary. “I’m not very good.”

Minseok honestly hadn’t noticed. If Lu Han hadn’t apologised for his lack of fluency in the language, Minseok wouldn’t have known. He’d sounded incredibly proficient in their emails.

“Don’t apologise,” he tells Lu Han. He rests a hand on top of Lu Han’s – a gesture he usually does out of his natural urge to comfort – then pulls away almost immediately. A flash of confusion appears on Lu Han’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly.

“The car’s this way,” he says.

His eyes don’t meet Minseok for a while after that.  


–––

Minseok had caught a morning flight, and reached in the afternoon. Lu Han suggests they go for lunch while his driver packs Minseok’s luggage in the boot of the car, and Minseok’s stomach rumbles embarrassingly before he has a chance to answer.

Lu Han laughs. “What would you like eat?”

“Anywhere with coffee is fine, actually,” Minseok says, feeling extremely sheepish.

The driver slides into the front, and Lu Han leans forward, speaking to him in Mandarin. It’s only then that it really hits Minseok – he’s in Beijing, where Jongdae’s been living for the past seven years.

Jongdae was probably fluent in Mandarin. Did he even remember any Korean at all?

It irks Minseok so much that he turns to Lu Han. Lu Han seems to sense that Minseok had wanted to say something, and turns as well.

“Does Jongdae still speak Korean?” Minseok asks. He hadn’t meant for it to come out, but it did.

“He does,” Lu Han says. There’s a pause, and Minseok had taught that Lu Han was going to leave it at that, but he continues. “He didn’t speak Korean at all when I first met him. I was sure he understood, but never spoke a word unless it was in his nightmares.”

The last part was said really softly, but Minseok caught it nonetheless. “Nightmares?” He asks.

Lu Han nods. “At first I thought it was childhood trauma, but then it became clear to me that it was something much more recent.”

The car is parked then, and Minseok purses his lips shut before he asks anymore.  


–––

The restaurant that Lu Han brings Minseok to is upscale and very classy. He feels a little out of place in his worn out sweater and skinny jeans, while Lu Han looked at home in his casual, yet still expensive-looking button-down and fitted pants. He’s a _lawyer_ , Minseok reminds himself, and suddenly feels very small.

It even has Korean menus, Minseok realises. He searches for the prices of the items, intending to go for the cheapest ones, but realises that there aren’t any. It makes him feel even more uneasy, that he closes the menu and chooses to stare out the window instead.

“Have you decided what to eat?” Lu Han asks.

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” Minseok says with a small shrug. He really didn’t want to impose onto Lu Han any more than necessary. Lu Han had offered to pay for his flight, but Minseok had declined. Lu Han had been insistent, though, and Minseok had let him book a hotel for him instead.

A waiter comes over, bending low as Lu Han tells him their order.

“Drinks?” Lu Han asks.

Minseok was about to say that whatever Lu Han’s having is fine, but he remembers the drip coffee he’d spotted on the menu. As much as he really didn’t want to impose, Lu Han _is_ wearing a very expectant look.

“Drip coffee would be nice,” Minseok says instead.

Lu Han smiles, then says something to the waiter. The waiter repeats their order, then disappears.

“I thought you’d be the drip coffee kind of guy,” Lu Han says, still smiling.  


–––

Lunch is nice. Minseok had expected it to be a little awkward, and that they’d only talk about Jongdae and nothing else, but Lu Han is warm and rather chatty, and they go from talking about their favourite coffee beans and roasts to their favourite football teams.

“Man U all the way, man,” Lu Han says proudly. He’s a lot more relaxed now, Minseok realises. His shoulders are a significantly less tense, and he’s dropped all the honourifics, his Korean become impressively casual in a way that suggests that he’d probably studied in Korea at some point.

“I did,” Lu Han admits when Minseok asks him. “I was in Yonsei for a year on exchange.” He leans forward on the table. “I went to Korea for DBSK.”

“No way!” Minseok laughs. “You’re a kpop fan. I would’ve never guessed.”

Lu Han laughs as well, all loud and boisterous in a way that he hadn’t done before. While he’d previously just chuckled or smiled, his laugh now is so open Minseok is a little terrified he might just unhinge his jaw at some point.

“Pretty sure kpop fans come in all shapes and sizes,” Lu Han says, his laughters dwindling down into a chuckle. “Like Jongdae. I met him at a DBSK concert.”

Minseok stiffens. He hadn’t known how to steer the topic to Jongdae while they were eating. It would be rude to simply demand to see someone else’s husband, he thinks, so he’d sat through their meal and chatted along with Lu Han.

Lu Han seems to sense that Minseok had been waiting to talk about Jongdae. His smile softens. “I dropped my lightstick on him. I was really surprised to see another guy my age there in the moshpit, since everyone’s usually a teenage girl.”

Minseok doesn’t know what to say. The Jongdae he’d known had never been a fan of kpop. He’d never thought of it as _less_ , but simply something that wasn’t his style. Hearing that Jongdae had been at a DBSK concert, and in the moshpit no less, was a surprise to Minseok.

“I asked him out for coffee after the concert,” Lu Han continues. “I remember he looked so apprehensive, I was terrified he’d say no. But he said yes.”  


어두워진 밤하늘을 떠나지 않는 별처럼  
사랑이란 믿음으로 영원히 함께하는 꿈  
그 사람 내가 될 수 있다면 다시 한 번 굳어버린  
그대 맘을 영원의 따스함으로 감싸 안을거야  
Like the stars which don’t leave the darkened sky,  
being together forever by the faith of love,  
If I could be that person, I’ll embrace your solid heart with eternal warmth

It’s a little past sundown when Lu Han reaches home. He feels a little guilty for having left Jongdae home all day, but at the same time he feels a lot lighter. Meeting and talking to Minseok had been unexpectedly enjoyable. They’d both been very cautious at first, but soon opened up to each other. Minseok admitted to being a snob about his choices of coffee and football teams, and Lu Han admitted to being a kpop fan. It had been interesting, but somehow Lu Han felt that something was missing.

Jongdae’s napping on the daybed in the lounge. Lu Han had bought a piano shortly after Jongdae had come home and placed it there, and Jongdae had started practising again, slowly recalling chords and bits of scores.

He doesn’t stir when Lu Han sits by him on the bed. It wasn’t too long ago that Lu Han sat by his bedside holding his hand gently, terrified of jostling the many tubes that ran along his arm, praying to every deity that existed that Jongdae would wake up. Now, he just feels an overwhelming surge of protectiveness and love. Jongdae looks so _young_ when he’s asleep, long eyelashes resting gently against his skin. His fringe has fallen, covering his eyebrows and a little of one eye, and Lu Han brushes it aside.

The movement has Jongdae stirring, and Lu Han waits for him to open his eyes and sit up.

“You’re back,” he says. His smiles are getting brighter and brighter, the worry and confusion etched between his brows slowly fading away as the days go by.

When he’d first gotten home Lu Han slept in the guest room while Jongdae took their bed, Lu Han treading around a side of his husband he had yet to meet, and Jongdae wary around the husband that he could barely remember. However Jongdae’s memories of Lu Han were coming back, and he was starting to be his cuddly, affectionate self again. He’d asked Lu Han to come back to their room at night, but Lu Han still stays awake long after Jongdae’s slept, content with just watching his husband sleep next to him.

“Yeah, shall I ask for dinner?” Lu Han asks, his fingers idly playing with Jongdae’s hair, the touch light.

Jongdae closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. “Sounds like a plan,” he replies, grinning. He stretches out his arms, arching his spine. “I slept the whole afternoon,” he pouts. “How was work?”

That question pulls Lu Han out of his thoughts. Jongdae doesn’t know that Lu Han had gotten in touch with Minseok. How was he to tell Jongdae that he’d just spent the entire afternoon with him?

“It was the usual,” he says instead. “Working on a huge case right now.” This part was half true – Jongdae _is_ a huge case. “So the usual. Meeting new people.” Also true. “Digging around in old files.” If _files_ meant Jongdae’s memories, then yes. “Doing boring writeups.” Not true.

Jongdae chuckles at that. “I’m glad I didn’t become a lawyer, then.”

“You complain about your writeups all the time too. You did all those research reports back in med school, and now you have to do patient reports,” Lu Han tells him. It’s a casual reminder, and Jongdae’s been taking it well for the past two weeks.

Today’s no different. Jongdae frowns a little in concentration as he tries to pull from his memories. “I remember typing away a lot in med school in the middle of the night,” he says after a beat. “You’d pull me away to eat or have sex.”

Lu Han laughed. Of course of all the things Jongdae remembered, it was of them having sex while Jongdae had reports due. They hadn’t been intimate since the accident, but Jongdae has been open about what he remembers of their sex life, which Lu Han takes as a good sign. He would never push things, but if Jongdae were to ever come to him for sex, he would never deny him either.

“The two most important activities in the world,” Lu Han declares. He gets off the bed, then extends a hand for Jongdae to grab.

Jongdae takes it, and Lu Han pulls him to his feet. He stumbles a little, unsteady, and Lu Han holds him steady by his elbows, Jongdae finding his balance by grabbing Lu Han’s waist. Their faces are mere inches apart, and Lu Han realises that all he has to do to kiss Jongdae is lean in.

Neither of them move, too absorbed in one another. Lu Han takes in every detail of Jongdae’s face, every single one he’s probably already taken in a thousand, maybe even ten thousand times before, and Jongdae’s eyes flit from Lu Han’s own, down to his mouth, then back up again.

“Can I kiss you?” Jongdae asks. It’s barely louder than a whisper, but Lu Han hears it loud and clear, even through the deafening _thumpthumpthump_ of his heart in his chest.

“Yes,” he breathes out, not daring to move lest Jongdae gets spooked and leaves.

But Jongdae doesn’t. Instead he slides his arms a little tighter around Lu Han, pulling him close, then presses his lips against his.  


–––

It feels like a dream. Sure, all they’d done was a mutual handjob on the daybed. It had started when Jongdae had untucked Lu Han’s shirt and rubbed circles with his thumb on Lu Han’s skin while they kissed, but Lu Han was so, so incredibly happy. His pants were a mess, and so were Jongdae’s, but they’d gotten rid of them, wiped themselves down, and pulled the throw blanket up to their waists.

“We forgot about dinner,” Jongdae says, chuckling. 

“We just had dinner,” Lu Han tells him.

“You’re disgusting,” Jongdae replies, but he’s still grinning, his hand still splayed on Lu Han’s waist, holding him close. “I want real sustenance. Not the orgasm kind. The edible, nourishing…” he trails off, frowning slightly at Lu Han’s raised eyebrow. “And I don’t mean a blowjob, jeez. Food. I need food. And coffee. Coffee would be good.”

Lu Han stills at the mention of coffee. Minseok was somewhere in this city and Lu Han had just given Jongdae a handjob. He knows that he’s Jongdae’s _husband_ and that it had been entirely consensual, but something just didn’t sit right. Minseok still obviously cared about Jongdae, and likewise, Jongdae still very obviously cared about Minseok.

Lu Han wasn’t sure where he fits.  


–––

Somehow Lu Han knows that Jongdae’s picked up on his nervousness. He keeps stealing worried glances at Lu Han from across the table while they eat, and Lu Han wants to tell him so desperately. But telling Jongdae would mean that Lu Han would also _lose_ him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d wanted that.

But as much as Jongdae’s smile was growing brighter day by day, there was still something in his eyes that didn’t quite light up the way it used to, and more than anything else in the world, Lu Han wanted to make sure that there was no more darkness in Jongdae.

“I know where Minseok is,” he blurts out. Jongdae’s spoon stops mid-scoop, and he puts it down.

“He’s alive?” He asks after a pause and an unbroken stare. “Where is he?”  


–––

The next half hour passes as a semi-aggressive interrogation. Neither of them are particularly aggressive when agitated. Jongdae can be loud, but he would never shout or be violent.

“You’ve emailed him for _two months_ , and you once told me?” Jongdae asks, his voice controlled. He’s standing up, arms folded tightly across his chest – a defensive gesture, Lu Han knows.

“Yes,” he replies. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Why not at the start? _Hey, Jongdae, do you want to find Minseok?_ Do you think I’ve never tried? I could’ve helped you out!”

“I didn’t want to stress you out,” Lu Han tries to reason. “You’d just got home then.”

“This is _Minseok_ we’re talking about here,” Jongdae hisses. “I thought he was my soulmate. Losing that – I thought he _died_ , Lu Han.”

It hurt Lu Han, so much, hearing Jongdae refer to someone else as his soulmate. It made him question if everything they’d had together was nothing but something Jongdae had simply went along with out of desperation to move on. He felt drained, exhausted, and very, very sad.

“He’s alive. And in Beijing,” Lu Han says softly. Jongdae’s stunned silent, his expression one of complete disbelief, and Lu Han doesn’t know what else to do but continue. “He just landed this afternoon.”

“You _met_ him,” Jongdae’s seething by now, his anger barely controlled, his fists curled. “And you didn’t tell me.”

“Jongdae, I’m so sorry,” Lu Han tries.

Jongdae closes his eyes and takes a breath. The room is dead silent, save for the ticking of the clock in the corner, and it makes Lu Han want to cry for the first time in years.

“I want to see him. Please.”  


放逐了黑色梦境  
温柔将我唤醒  
来不及关上窗  
你远远地逃离  
Exiled to a dark dream, your gentleness awakens me  
Not in time to close the window, you flee far away

Lu Han drives Jongdae to Minseok’s hotel, and Jongdae looks out the window and tries very hard not to think about Minseok. He’ll get his answers soon, he knows, so there’s no reason to speculate.

Snow’s falling, dancing in under streetlights before resting to pile on the streets. Jongdae remembers flashes of Seoul in winter, of snow piled high on sidewalks and the cold that seeps through layers and layers of clothing right down to muscle and bone. And how it always felt much, much warmer when Minseok was holding his hand.

His heart clenches painfully. It’s been seven years of struggling to move on, of trying to forget and built another life – a different life – for himself. He’d been happy being Chen Zhongda, the Korean adoptee who became a doctor, and was happy with Lu Han. He’d tried so hard not to think about the possibility of Minseok being alive, but hearing that _Lu Han_ had known for months, and brought him to Beijing had completely tossed him off-centre.

“We’re here,” Lu Han says after he turns off the ignition. “Jongdae?”

Jongdae unbuckles his seatbelt without a word, and gets out.

The hotel is grand. It’s the kind that he and Lu Han would frequent while on trips, nothing less than 5 stars, with multiple service awards every year and a 24-hour concierge; but not the kind that he and Minseok would be comfortable with seven years ago.

He wonders if Minseok has changed, if he lived in the same world they did or had moved on the same way Jongdae had. He feels a little jittery, nervous, not sure what to expect on the other side of the door. Lu Han turns to him, his expression schooled to a blank, but Jongdae somehow knows that it’s because he’s hurt. He wonders briefly if he should’ve thought this through, but brushes the thought aside and knocks on the door himself.

When Minseok opens the door, Jongdae feels like he’s falling and flying at the same time. Minseok looks as beautiful as Jongdae had remembered, but a little worn at the edges. There’s little creases at the corners of his eyes, and he’s lost a lot of weight, his cheekbones and jaw defined instead of covered by baby fat.

It’s Minseok who speaks first. “J-Jongdae?” He gasps out. His hand reaches out for him, and Jongdae goes to him, his fingers searching for Minseok’s and linking, holding on tightly, terrified that if he let go it would be nothing but a fragment of a dream.

Neither of them realise that Lu Han’s slipped away.  


–––

Jongdae demands that Minseok tells him all about his seven years before he does, and Minseok smiles and complies. He tells him about his studio in Hongdae, the art classes he holds three times a week, and how one of his art installations was now on permanent display in their old university. Minseok always pauses to ask about Jongdae, but Jongdae insists to know more about _Minseok’s_ years. Even when Minseok’s told everything, he prods about their friends instead.

“Chanyeol and Kyungsoo are living together,” Minseok tells him. “Baekhyun is married to Taeyeon – the TA you guys had for Voice II in your sophomore year, remember her? They have a little girl.”

“Wow, I would never have imagined,” Jongdae replies. They’re still holding hands, and Jongdae’s playing idly with Minseok’s fingers, twisting them between his own. “Seven years ago all Baekhyun was doing was drooling over her every time she walked past.”

“A lot changes in seven years,” Minseok says. He reaches up to cup Jongdae’s cheek. “You still haven’t told me about you.”

“Didn’t–” Jongdae feels the bubble of betrayal rise up to his throat again, but swallows it. “Didn’t Lu Han tell you?”

Minseok shook his head. “Not much. He told me you’re a doctor, that–” He pulls away suddenly then, scooting away from Jongdae.

“Jongdae,” he says. “You’re _married_. We can’t do this.” He gets up, and Jongdae wants so badly to pull him back down and take his hand back in his own, but he feels so conflicted.

“You’re married,” Minseok repeats, his expression hard. “We’re not together anymore, Jongdae. You’ve moved on. Why are you still here?”

Those words hurt. They cut right through Jongdae, and he has a flash of seeing himself pace in the bathroom on his wedding day. He remembers biting down his guilt, remembers staring at his reflection long and hard and telling himself that yes, this was what he’d wanted, for himself and for Minseok. A different kind of happiness. It wasn’t worse, it was just different, and damned if Jongdae wasn’t going to make the most out of it.

“I didn’t know if you were alive,” Jongdae begins slowly. “They told me you _died_ , that day. Everything I did – I thought it would make you proud.”

Minseok turns around then, and Jongdae can see that he’s wiped a hand down his face. He stands, his shoulders slumped and his arms crossed, body stiff, for a while, before he finally turns to Jongdae.

“Me too,” he admits softly. “I thought you were dead too. They told me –” He pauses, and Jongdae wants so badly to pull Minseok into his arms, to press kisses on his temple and long the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t. He’s _married_ , he reminds himself, to Lu Han.

“They told me to move on, and I did. I dated others too, but I just felt better by myself.”

Jongdae hangs his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” Minseok says. He sits back down on the bed and tilts his head sideways so he can catch Jongdae’s eye without touching him. “Don’t be sorry. We just did what we thought was best for ourselves and each other.”

“If I’d known you were alive–” Jongdae begins, but Minseok cuts him.

“Do you love Lu Han?”  


내일이면그댄나를떠나고  
내일이면나의꿈도떠나고  
When tomorrow comes, you would have left me  
When tomorrow comes, I would be wishing upon shooting stars alone

Lu Han never did like feeling helpless. He’d always known that the day would come for him to give Jongdae up, but he’d always thought he’d do it with a smile on his face and be able to turn his hurt into acceptance and a fierce desire to see Jongdae happy. But reality is hurt in every fibre of his being. Reality is bits of Jongdae hiding in the little nooks and crannies of their shared home – his laughter, the pitter-patter of his feet against the floor – reminding him of what he’s lost. It’s not something Lu Han can deal with alone, so he reaches for his alcohol cabinet and pulls out a stiff drink and a glass.

He’s well into third – or was it fourth – glass of scotch when his phone buzzes. It’s a text from Jongdae, and Lu Han laughs, because he’s probably drunk, but unlocks his phone to read it anyway.

_I’m sorry I acted the way I did just now_  
 _I was just upset that you hid it from me_  
 _That you were talking to Minseok_

Lu Han’s head suddenly feels too heavy, and he feels a little nauseous, so he leans his head down on the table and watches as more texts come in.

_You told me so many times before that there should be no secrets between us_  
 _I’m so sorry I kept so much from you, Lu Han_

There’s no more messages for a while, so Lu Han closes his eyes, wanting to fall asleep just so he could wake up the next morning to realise that everything had been a dream.

_Lu Han, I love you_  
 _I’m sorry_  
 _I’ll be home soon_  


–––

When Lu Han wakes, he’s in his and Jongdae’s bed with the covers pulled up under his chin. His head is heavy and hurts so bad. Lifting it makes him want to throw up, so he goes back to sleep.  


–––

The second time Lu Han wakes, there’s hushed whispers nearby. He hears a Jongdae-shaped chuckle, and thinks he’s probably dreaming again.

“He’s awake again,” someone says, and Lu Han feels the bed shift. He cracks open an eye, and see’s Jongdae’s face.

“Good morning,” he says. He’s smiling, and he’s _here_ and Lu Han is still sure that it’s a dream.

“Hey,” Lu Han grunts out. He sits up, his head still throbbing a fantastic beat in his head. Jongdae looks a little worried, but passes him a glass of water and aspirin. Lu Han takes it and tosses it back. The liquid feels amazing in his parched throat, and he drains the glass.

He feels slightly more alive, and finally lifts his head to look around the room for some semblance of time.

“I called your secretary,” Jongdae says. “Told her you’ll be taking the day off.”

She won’t be too happy about that, Lu Han thinks. “Did you call Yifan?”

“I did. I asked about that big case you were working on too, but Yifan doesn’t seem to know of it.”

That’s because that big case is you, Lu Han thinks. “Yeah, he doesn’t. I’m working solo on that one.”

“Oh,” Jongdae says. His shoulders fall slightly.

He thinks of Minseok and how he’d wanted to ask about Jongdae so badly, but obviously didn’t know how. He wonders how he was doing, alone in a foreign country while his _soulmate_ was here with Lu Han. He wants to feel happy, proud that Jongdae chose him over Minseok, but he can’t. Somehow he still feels like he’s taken Jongdae away from Minseok, that as much as Lu Han would give the world to Jongdae, he still can’t give what Minseok can.

“I hope you like Korean food,” Jongdae says, breaking the silence. He smiles nervously, turning Lu Han’s glass over in his hands.

“You cooked?”

“No,” Jongdae pauses, biting on his lower lip. “Minseok hyung did.”

Lu Han stares at Jongdae.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he says. “I couldn’t really remember the exact address of our apartment, so Minseok offered to accompany me in the cab. Nothing happened between us, Lu Han, I swear. We helped you up into bed. I slept in the guest room and Minseok slept on the daybed downstairs. I wouldn’t cheat on you.” He places the glass on the bedside table, then reaches out to take Lu Han’s hand in his.

“It’s not cheating,” Lu Han tells him, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “If it’s you and Minseok, it’s not cheating.”

Jongdae shakes his head. “It _is_. I’m not married to him. I’m married to you.”

Lu Han takes a breath. “Then tell me honestly, do you love Minseok?”

Jongdae lets go of Lu Han’s hand and looks down at the sheets.

“I love you both,” Jongdae says softly. “I don’t know who I love more, I just want you both.” He looks up and notices Lu Han’s expression – shocked, eyes blown wide.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises quickly, ducking his head once more. “It’s really selfish and disgusting, I’m sorry.”

Lu Han thinks of Minseok’s shy, toothy smile, and his low chuckles that he tries to hide by looking down. He thinks of their conversation at the restaurant, their easy chemistry and all the things they have in common, and finds that he wants another with Minseok.

He reaches out for Jongdae, gripping his wrist just as he’s about to get up to leave the bed.

“Maybe,” he says. “We can try.”  


시간 지나 모두 변해도  
이 세상이 끝난다해도  
나의 사랑아  
Even if time passes by and everything changes,  
Even if this world comes to an end,  
You’ll be my love.

Minseok takes a sip from his cup and turns back to his sketch. He’d been sitting at the cafe for nearly four hours, as he does twice a week, but no one chases him away. It’s his _alone_ time, or so Jongdae calls it, to simply find a muse and channel it in his sketchbook. The corner table that he usually nabs faces the road outside, so Minseok sketches people and scenes and feelings.

He’s shading when Lu Han finally pulls out the chair in front of him. “Sorry I’m late. Got held back by a client,” he says, leaning forward to peck Minseok on the lips as a greeting. He’s smiling when he pulls away, putting his phone on the table and leaning forward on his arms. “Whatcha feel like having today?”

“I don’t know,” Minseok shrugs. “I feel like we’ve exhausted every option within walking distance from here.”

Lu Han chuckles. “I don’t get why we still do this, actually.” He reaches out for Minseok’s hand, and Minseok drops his pencil to take let Lu Han fiddle with his fingers. It’s a habit that Lu Han had seemed to pass onto Jongdae, but Minseok wasn’t complaining.

Speaking of Jongdae: “It was _his_ idea,” Minseok says, rolling his eyes, though his voice is fond and he’s grinning.

“Our little prince,” Lu Han agrees solemnly. “ _You should go out on a date once a week, just the two of you!_ ” He says, a sorry imitation that Minseok knew would make Jongdae very, very mad. “Everything he says is law.”

“And you, as an esteemed lawyer, are obligated to uphold it?”

Lu Han nods, his expression still serious. “Yes, everything in our majesty’s honour.”

They both chuckle then, then lapse into a comfortable silence. Lu Han’s still playing with Minseok’s fingers. He has both of Minseok’s hands now, rubbing circles on the top of one while linking fingers with the other.

“I miss him when he’s not here, though,” Minseok says.

Lu Han’s expression softens, and he gives Minseok’s hands a squeeze. “Me too, Min. It’s like–” he pauses, tilting his head a little to think of words. Minseok chuckles, and squeezes Lu Han’s hands back.

“It’s like we’re not complete,” Lu Han finishes. 

It’s then that Minseok gets an idea. “We could grab stuff, surprise him at work.”

“Remember the last time we called him while we were supposed to be on a _date_? My ear still hurts from all that whining,” Lu Han says, rubbing the mentioned area.

“It’s been six months,” Minseok says. He straightens and waves one of the waiters over. “Can I get the menu?” He asks in perfect Mandarin. The waiter nods and disappears.

“You have a good Mandarin teacher,” Lu Han says, raising his eyebrows suggestively at Minseok. “I wonder who he is.”

“Their methods of teaching are…” he searches for the word, snapping his fingers when he remembers. “Unorthodox. But they are very efficient.”

“Efficient, huh,” Lu Han says, his tone slightly lewd. He nudges a foot between Minseok’s legs and strokes halfway up his shin.

Minseok clasps his shins together, keeping Lu Han’s leg between them.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Lu Han says in Mandarin.

“Yes, this is how it is,” Minseok replies, in Mandarin, then winks.  


–––

They order lunch for themselves and Jongdae and ask for it to be packed up, then Lu Han winks at Minseok and heads to the bathroom.

Barely a minute later, Minseok’s handphone beeps.

_Come now!!!!!_

Minseok tries hard to hide his grin. He closes his sketchbook, keeps his pencils and zips up his pencil case, then smiles at a waitress and points to the toilet.

“What took you so long?” Lu Han asks. He reaches out for Minseok, grabs his arm and pulls him close. They kiss, Lu Han sliding his tongue in between Minseok’s lips almost immediately.

“You’re hot and bothered,” Minseok says when they break apart. Lu Han’s eyes are blown and dark, and Minseok wants so badly to take him apart and put him back together.

He slides to his knees, eyes level with Lu Han’s crotch. There’s a little gasp as Lu Han realises what Minseok’s about to do, and he slides a hand on the back of Minseok’s head, fingers resting in his hair. Minseok unbuckles Lu Han’s belt, then unzips his pants and pulls them down to his knees. Lu Han’s already starting to strain against his boxer-briefs, so Minseok peels them off too.

Lu Han’s dick isn’t that hard yet, so Minseok spits into his hand, grips it and starts stroking. It doesn’t take long for Lu Han to start to moan, and he lets out a particularly loud whimper when Minseok sucks on the head of his dick.

“Min–” Lu Han whines. He pulls Minseok off his dick just as Minseok’s about to swallow around it, then gestures him to stand. “You too,” he says, making quick work of Minseok’s pants and briefs.

“Yeah, okay,” Minseok says, taking them both in his hand.  


–––

They reach Jongdae’s hospital with barely fifteen minutes to spare in Jongdae’s lunch break. Lu Han had called his secretary and said that he’d be running errands after lunch, so don’t expect him back so soon.

Yixing took one look at them both, then turns to the front desk.

“Call Doctor Chen, tell him his appointments for the rest of the afternoon are cancelled, then tell him he’s urgently needed at the front desk” Yixing says drily.

“We didn’t ask you to do that,” Lu Han says.

Yixing gives Lu Han a look, then turns to Minseok. “He thinks that after twenty years of friendship, I can’t tell when he’s horny as fuck and just wants both his lovers naked in his bed.”

Lu Han sputters. “Minseok doesn’t understand that.”

But Minseok’s laughing. “I don’t know why he’s so horny either,” he tells Yixing in Mandarin. “Thanks, Yixing.”

“No problem,” Yixing says. He grins, flashing his dimple, then walks away.

Jongdae appears some two minutes later, his white doctor’s coat flapping behind him as he half-runs, half-walks down the corridor. He spots them some distance away, and Minseok can see him starting to frown.

“We’re going to be whined at again,” Minseok says.

“Until he hears that all we want is him naked in our bed,” Lu Han replies, smirking.  


내 맘을 고백할래  
너를 사랑해  
Should I confess my heart?  
I love you.

“Wow, both of you are really horny today,” Jongdae says, much later, long after they’d gotten naked. There’s come crusting on his hip (Lu Han’s) and in his ass (Minseok’s) and he feels so sated. He sprawls out on the bed, ignoring the towel Minseok’s thrown at him. Lu Han’s dozing between him and Minseok, his mouth slightly open, and Jongdae traces the little scar on his lower lip.

“He never told me how he got that,” Minseok says. He seems to have given up his quest to get the three of them spunk-free and uncrusted, curling up instead against Lu Han’s other side, resting his cheek against the crook of Lu Han’s neck. He’s staring at the criss-cross web of scars on Jongdae’s chest – a reminder that he’s a fighter, that he’s still _here_ – and he reaches out to ghost his fingertips against them.

Jongdae slinks back a little, the touch ticklish. “You should ask him, you know. Every scar has a story.”

Minseok flits his eyes up to Jongdae’s. “Tell me about yours.”

“You know it, though,” Jongdae says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, even though this is his lover of eleven years. “You tell me.”

Lu Han blinks awake then. He looks down at Minseok, then up at Jongdae, and squirms a little. He slides his arms under them both and arranges the three of them so that Minseok’s spooned along his back, Jongdae’s head is resting on his arm and their legs are tangled together under the blanket.

“I heard you were talking about scars,” he says sleepily, once he’s deemed their position right.

“Minseok’s about to tell us a story,” Jongdae says, placing his palm on Lu Han’s hip. “We should listen.”

Minseok clears his throat, then rests his arm on the curve of Lu Han’s waist. He reaches out, tracing the largest of Jongdae’s scars – the one that runs right down Jongdae’s sternum. His fingers rest gently at the top.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away,” he begins, his voice soft. “There was a brave prince called Jongdae.”

**Author's Note:**

> written for prompt 261 for the chenpionships (thank you, anon prompter! i hope you like this fic! u_u)
> 
> wow, this fic! i worked on this for ages and ages with gill, and it was honestly quite difficult to write, especially since there was polyamory involved. but gill was amazing and helped me through all the blocks! looking back, writing it was really fun hahahaha. i hope i managed to portray a poly relationship in a positive light!
> 
> behind the scenes  
> 
> 
> lyrics featured are in order: kyuhyun’s 7 years of love, exo-m’s moonlight, dbsk’s love in the ice, sjm’s blue tomorrow, and jongdae’s best luck
> 
> [shameless] if you liked this fic, do give me a kudos or leave a comment here or [here on livejournal](http://electrolyse.livejournal.com/5413.html)! [/shameless]


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